Damned Little Witch
by OldVictorianQuill
Summary: "His gun burst while out on the hills by himself, a splinter cut his arm, and he lost a good deal of blood before he could reach home." A Team Hareton fanfiction.


**Damned Little Witch.**

Disclaimer: I do not own Wuthering Heights.

Summary: "His gun burst while out on the hills by himself, a splinter cut his arm, and he lost a good deal of blood before he could reach home." A Team Hareton fanfiction.

Pairing: Hareton/Cathy angst.

A/N: This fic is for xCharlie-Groupiex, who requested another Team Hareton fic. Thanks for bringing me back to the wonderful world of Wuthering Heights.

۞

"Damned little witch!" Hareton muttered darkly to himself as he crossed the moors harshly on foot, kicking the odd stone or two in his path in an attempt to dispel his temper before returning to the Heights.

After everything she'd said and done to him did she really think a _book_ was going to repair the damage? He snorted a disgusting sound devoid of any humour as he remembered furiously how he'd shunned her attempt at a reconciliation by ignoring the book she'd left him and then the next morning heard _her _cry as though _she'd_ been wronged. He scowled unpleasantly as he kicked a large stone with the thinning leather of his gradually decaying boot remembering her spiteful words.

_"He began to teach himself to read once; and because I laughed, he burned his books and dropped it: was he not a fool?"_

Perhaps, he grudgingly admitted to himself, remembering his beautiful books that would now be less than ash. But not as much a fool as she was a little, devious, spiteful witch!

He sighed and sat down heavily on a nearby rock, throwing his gun to one side and gazing out into the sunset as he sulked. No matter how much he inwardly cursed her with words she'd probably never even heard before living at the Heights, he still couldn't manage to shift the pain he felt at her indifference of him.

"_Do you ever dream, Hareton? And, if you do, what is it about?"_

How could he tell her that, even now, she was what he dreamt about? Since the first time they'd met when her bright personality and inane chatter about nothing important in her perfect accent had stunned him into a dumb silence. He chuckled darkly to himself. Well maybe that had been for the best. It seemed he couldn't say anything to her without his coarse, gruff uneducated voice paining her precious ears.

Frowning as the light pink sunset began to fade into a dark inky blue, Hareton sighed and rose to his feet in defeat, leaning down to retrieve his abandoned gun, and swinging it over his shoulder.

He didn't even register the bang until after he'd been thrown to the floor by the force of the shot, his suddenly bloody arm crashing unceremoniously into the hard ground, bearing the brunt of his weight as he fell, the sound of the shot dispelling in the wind.

He lay in shock for a moment, unsure of what had happened before looking down at his arm and cursing gruffly, biting back a gasp.

The moment he took in the sight of his bloody arm, a large splinter deeply embedded, the pain arrived searing up his arm and into his shoulder which had jarred from the force of his impact with the ground. He grimaced as he quickly took his weight off it, looking around wildly as spots began to appear in his vision.

Not two feet from him sat his now smoking gun, burst at the end with wooden splinters decorating the ground around it. He flinched as he moved. And apparently also decorating his arm.

Biting his lip to keep his pained grunting in, he held his shirt tatters tightly onto his profusely bleeding arm and gradually made his way to his feet. He looked around dazed and registered the rapidly darkening sky and the distance to the Heights before noticing the extent to which his legs shook.

He cursed roughly.

۞

Cathy sat by the window of the small cramped kitchen, gazing out anxiously as she awaited any sign that her cousin was returning home as night began to close in.

"You looking out there for him when you should be eating dinner will not make him come home any quicker." Nelly finally told her wearily, feeling exhausted just watching the young girl so anxiously stare out the window, her eyes on high alert.

Cathy shook her head stubbornly, biting her lip nervously.

"He should be back by now Ellen. What if something's happened? What if he's hurt?"

Nelly raised one eyebrow at her charges worried tone and eyed her curiously.

"He'll be back soon enough."

No sooner had the words left Nelly's mouth did Cathy gasp suddenly and leap from her window side seat and run to the front door pulling it open.

Nelly gasped at the scene that awaited them on the other side. Joseph stood bent sideways as he took the brunt of Hareton's weight, who from the look of his pale face, heavily bleeding arm and drooping eyelids, was fast losing consciousness.

"O't of t' way!" Joseph snapped rudely at Cathy as he dragged Hareton inside and unceremoniously dumped him in the fireside armchair with about as much gentleness as you would throw a thief from your house.

"What happened?" Nelly asked shocked, immediately rushing to find a wet cloth, before moving to examine the deep wound to which Hareton shook her off blearily.

Both Nelly and Cathy watched with bated breath as Hareton grumbled even more incoherently than usual, and unable to understand his coarse words they looked to Joseph who seemed to have no trouble. He nodded seriously before reaching for a bottle of whiskey and passing it to Hareton in a fatherly manner, clapping a hand on his shoulder in a typical male fashion not even noticing Hareton's pained wince as the movement caused a sharp pain to move through his jarred shoulder.

"You can't just give him whiskey!" Nelly spoke indignantly, to which Hareton and Joseph both ignored her, Hareton instead taking a deep swig using his uninjured arm and clumsily spilling some down his chin.

And as Joseph sat by Hareton's side in fatherly concern, a side of Joseph rarely seen, and Nelly stood anxiously eyeing the deep, splintered wound, nobody saw Cathy from where she stood in the corner watching the scene anxiously with tears in her pained eyes, or how Hareton cast her a hateful, hurt glance as though this too was her fault, before closing his eyes and letting the whiskey take effect.

۞

A/N: Any constructive criticism would be gratefully received.  
>And for any A Level students out there studying the book; this fic is based on an event mentioned in Chapter 32.<p> 


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